Nimrod
by PitaEnigma
Summary: After an attack on her synagogue leaves the rabbi dead and the last Jewish community in Brockton Bay broken, Charlotte seeks revenge. Originally posted on SB, being reposted to . Magneto-power Charlotte
1. Chapter 1

_"God will forgive me. That's his business."_

 _-Heinrich Heine_

* * *

The dogs' cages rattled, setting off another round of barking.

"Shut the fuck up!" the handler screamed, kicking at a cage. This only served to incite the dogs to bark more. "Fuck!"

"Leave it," his friend said. "They'll just be that much more aggressive tonight. Boss man is gonna be here. Let's leave the mutts alone until then. I'll buy you a beer."

The two men left, leaving the dogs completely alone to voice their frustration and rage.

Almost completely alone.

The padlocks on the cages opened. Even the rusty ones made no noise, their mechanisms smoothed. They fell on the floor softly, making no noise. The doors opened.

The dogs grew quiet. The first one, brave enough or angry enough, took a step out of the cage, then bounded towards the exit. Inspired by his example, the rest stampeded out, a mad dash of energy at the prospect of freedom invigorating their strides.

Within a few weeks, most of the dogs will have been taken into pounds and put down when they prove too unruly. A dog taught only violence can not make a good pet.

The cages themselves broke apart, the chain linked wires curling, appearing nearly liquid in their fluidity.

The two men ran back in. "What the fuck..." the handler said.

The wires flew towards the men, and in wrapped themselves around them in an almost gentle manner before beginning to constrict. The men struggled, against the constraints.

"He-" the other man started to scream before wires wrapped around his face and mouth and tightened, cutting into his cheeks, muffling his cries. The handler's wires followed suit.

The girl stepped over them. Her metallic armor fit her perfectly. A helmet barely obscured her features, a Y-shaped slit showing brown eyes and thin lips pursed into a joyless smile.

The metal frames of the cages rearranged themselves to form a chair. She sat on it, and waited.

She didn't have to wait long before they entered.

Four men came in, all of whom had metal on their pwersons, but her eyes were only interested in their leader. A tall, strong man, with long, dirty blond hair. He wore a wifebeater and jeans, but most important was his mask. Metal beaten to resemble the shape of a wolf's head. Hookwolf.

He laughed when he saw her. The three others immediately pulled guns on her. Hookwolf put a hand up, holding them back.

"You've been looking for me," he said.

"It's time for you to pay for what you've done," the girl said, standing up.

"I've done a lot of things," Hookwolf said.

"You killed the rabbi," the girl responded.

"I've killed a lot of Jews, you're going to have to be specific."

"You will pay for what you've done," she said.

"I'll give you one chance, little girl. Go play hero somewhere else. Before I decide to take what you just cost me out of you," Hookwolf said. "You've got a loss, and I respect that. You want to come out of this feeling like a hero? Walk away. We can call it even. I killed one of yours, you've hurt two of mine and freed my dogs. We don't have to do this."

"You will pay for what you've done."

"Fine," he said. He was upon her in two blinks of an eye. She only needed one.

He froze in mid-air, half transformed, chains extending from his body in all directions. His men tried to pull the triggers on their guns, but couldn't. She pulled each gun from its owner's hands and pointed them back towards the owners.

"Let me go, kike bitch," he said. "Fight fair, you pathetic little-"

His words were choked out by a grunt when she pulled on the chains. She pulled the mask from his head, revealing a nose that had been broken a few too many times and bloodshot blue eyes.

"You killed one of mine? Only one?" she asked. She pulled the triggers on all three guns, their owners flopping to the ground. "Your people killed so many… and they still let you walk around. They still let you laugh, and play, and smile. And so many others can't. Because of you, and yours. Because of the _shit_ you put us through."

"Fucking bitch." He extended more chains. That just gave her more to hold. She pulled harder, noticing the stress points in the chains. She changed her pull pulling from the base of the chains, the part embedded in his flesh, keeping the chains straight as well. She wouldn't want to break the chains before she broke him.

That would be stupid.

He kept releasing more chains, trying to relieve the pain, until they came to an end. He'd reached his limit. Good. She pulled harder. He started screaming. Better.

Now was time for the art. If she pulled too much, she might leave him with a core. The secret was to pull the chains off, one at a time. Each one came off with a piece of flesh. Very Shylock of her, she thought. Only she could take blood as well. No false mob would be hunting her down for this one.

Pretty soon, the screams stopped as well.. Was he… mewling?

Good. She'd done enough. Even animals deserved to be put down.

"Hookwolf?" She asked.

His head was transfixed, but his eyes were looking at her. There were tears in them. He looked pathetic.

"Bye bye." The chains she ripped off all straightened and rose in the air. Like spears, they aimed themselves at their former owner and flew.

Charlotte had to wash herself off before heading home.

For the first time in two months, the first time since Yom Kippur, she slept a full night. There were no nightmares.

* * *

"Baruch ata adonai, eloheinu melech ha'olam, shehechyanu, vekiyemanu, vehegiyanu lazman haze," sang Rabbi Greenberg.

It was a bit of a joke, Charlotte reflected. Her family, the Fittses, and Rabbi Greenberg's family were the only ones in the synagogue. They were only a minyan when they counted women. The only Jews to still practice in Brockton Bay. The only ones brave enough or stupid enough to stay. She'd heard it from her mother, but apparently Rabbi Greenberg had invited the only Muslim family they knew, the Halimis, to join them. They had politely refused.

Rabbi Greenberg. Hopeful or delusional, she didn't know. Mostly just… sad. Every Friday night and every Saturday morning, he'd come to Temple, to await families who didn't come. For prayers that he'd end up praying alone. He'd been a staple of Brockton Bay since the 80's, since his beard had been black and his belly massive. But it seemed that as the community left with the rise of the Neo Nazi movement in Brockton Bay, his beard had gone whiter and his belly shrank. She'd seen an old picture of him, back when he took the job. He'd been a bear of a man, with a smile on his face. Now he looked small. Defeated. He'd smile and thank her family for coming when they'd arrive for holidays, but the smile never reached his eyes.

One by one, people started walking towards the door. Melanie Fitts was the first. Charlotte remembered being six, and tackling her during her Bat Mitzvah. Candy had flown everywhere, but Melanie just laughed and hugged her. Melanie had had a sense of humor, back then. A slight smile to offset her sternness. But that had disappeared, as surely as the community had. Melanie had greeted her with an unfamiliar "Hello," and gone to sit with her parents at the beginning of the evening. Her younger brother had stayed at home, probably. They didn't speak all night. Charlotte couldn't help but feel a sense of loss, at that.

Melanie looked at her phone, a look of alarm spreading on her face. "Everyone hide!" she screamed, running to her parents, pushing them towards the back exit. Almost on cue, the door broke inwards. A giant metallic canine pushed its way through.

Hookwolf was there.

She stood in shock as Hookwolf bounded in. A noise came out of his mouth. It sounded like… a laugh? It was distorted by the lupine shape he'd taken. Her mother screamed, and pulled at her zeide.

Charlotte wanted to run. She wanted to scream. She wanted to fight back. She did none of those. She stood. _Why aren't I running?_

Hookwolf swung a bladed tail around, taking out the decorations, the wooden walls and plastic chairs. Splinters flew. Charlotte numbly registered a pain in her left arm.

"Come on, Char!" Her mother pulled at her sleeve. The tear widened. _This was my nice dress_ , she thought. It was too modest to be a party dress, but she loved the blue of it. And now it had a tear on the left sleeve, and blood was soaking through. It was ruined now. She wondered if she'd be buried in it.

"Charlotte!" She found herself stumbling after her parents. Her father pushing her grandparents away. The Fittses had disappeared already. Smart. Rabbi Greenberg stood in place. He stared at the monster in front of him.

Hookwolf approached him slowly.

"Shma yisrael," he said, his voice carrying. "Adonai eloheinu. Adonai echad."

Hookwolf laughed again, a harsh metallic sound. He extended a paw, and slapped him. It was almost comedic, how the rabbi crumpled. And Hookwolf…

He didn't even care. There was no anger, no real emotion about it. Only a slight amusement. He looked at Charlotte. He took a step forward. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

She collapsed, thinking of stars.

* * *

"You haven't been eating," her mother remarked. The plate in front of her had asparagus and chicken, an old favorite of hers. She'd been pushing it around with her fork, watching the asparagus push away the grease with its own juices. It looked revolting.

"I'm not hungry," she said. She'd last eaten… yesterday. She'd had breakfast then, right?

"You need to eat, honey. I know that what happened was terrible, but we have to keep living." Her mother washed dishes as she spoke, loading them into the dishwasher after she was finished. She was always the type to do more work than was needed, to overcompensate. The large dish of chicken breasts and asparagus was also a product of that. If Charlotte were the hungriest she'd ever been, she wouldn't have been able to tackle it.

"Then what are we doing here?" Charlotte asked. He put down her fork.

"Excuse me?"

"What are we doing here? We were attacked a week ago. Rabbi Greenberg is dead!" She shouted. Her mother stopped wiping the glass she was holding. "There's no reason for us to stay, unless we want to be next! This city has Nazis, mom. Actual Nazis. Not just assholes, not just people doing evil shit, but actual literal Nazis. Did you even go to Rabbi Greenberg's funeral?"

Her mother was shaking. "You were in the hospital, and it was in New York. We couldn't..."

"We couldn't what? Go to New York? Go away? Go anywhere that isn't this shithole of a city?" Charlotte didn't notice when it happened, but she was standing. "I'm not doing this, mom! I can't go to a school where lockers get tagged with swastikas! I can't do this. I can't… do this."

" _You_ can't do this? You!?" Her mother had tears in her eyes. "Do you even… We can't do this to your grandfather, Charlotte. He's not going to leave after _fighting_ for this place, and we're not leaving without him. Do you know what he's achieved in this city? How much we should be thanking him? And he's not going to let these animals win. Neither should you. Don't turn your tail. We are _not_ going to leave."

The glass slipped from her hand, and fell on the floor, smashing into pieces, clattering over the tiles. Her mother started. "Are you wearing shoes? Sit on the chair, keep off the ground. I'll go get a broom."

 _Don't let these animals win_ , Charlotte thought. _Don't turn your tail._

The chicken breast looked good. She smelled it. Paprika and curry. Her favorite. She cut off a small piece, and took a bite.

Maybe she _was_ hungry.

* * *

Her first act would be to get a costume. She'd doodled concepts, but couldn't find one that fit, until she absentmindedly accidentally flattened a spoon with her power. She had a moment of panic before she realized… she could do it the other way. She could shape the spoon, bend it back to shape. Erase the little scratches and tooth marks on it. In the space of a few seconds, it was pristine. Better than it was when her mother had first replaced the silverware in the house after a moment of panic.

Quickly, she drew a helmet. Rounded, yet angular, flowing… intimidating. She could do it, she knew. One good thing about living in a shitty city was the huge amount of scrap metal just lying there. Some boys from school made extra pocket money sifting through it, taking the good pieces, and selling them under the table to metalworkers. She could buy from them… or just get it herself.

If she had a full suit of armor, could she lift herself?

She turned on her computer. She was going to Google the _shit_ out of this.

* * *

After two hours of flying around, she saw it. Two skinheads, approaching a black woman in an alley. She couldn't make out what they were saying from inside this helmet. She opened slits near her ears. A miscalculation.

"What's the problem? White ain't good enough for you?" One of them asked. He was laughing.

"Mikey, I think she has a problem with white guys," the other responded.

"Well, I don't like stuck up black bitches, so I guess we have something in common." For the first time, Charlotte noticed the knife in his hand.

She woman backed away. She didn't even talk. She looked so _defeated_. Anger flared in Charlotte's chest. She could stand up for herself, _fight_. But she didn't. She just… was going to be victimized.

Like Charlotte.

She crumpled the man's knife. "Stop right there!"

"Cape!" He screamed at his friend, then started running. They wouldn't hurt this woman, but… they'd hurt other women. Other people.

She picked up the lid of a metal trash can from one of the restaurants in this alley, and threw it It hit one in the head and she directed its bounce to hit the other one. They crumpled.

She flew to them. The second guy she'd hit was breathing, groaning. The first…

She'd hit him too hard. The back of his skull had caved in… blood was leaking out of his nose and ears. She'd killed him. She'd…

She threw up.

"Oh my god, thank you," she vaguely registered a voice saying. The woman. The one she'd saved, by scaring these people, by… killing one.

She didn't mean to. It was an accident. They were hurting someone.

They were Nazis. Why was she upset?

She flew away. She couldn't be here. She needed to get away.


	2. Chapter 2

_"Start with what is right, rather than what is acceptable."_

-Franz Kafka

* * *

It was bolognese. Spaghetti. She'd eaten it a hundred times. It didn't look like brain mush. It was fine. She enjoyed it.

Charlotte chewed. Each bite was an effort. She tried not to think of how much the sauce looked like blood with chunks in it. One bite after another. She wouldn't let this affect her.

It was a Nazi. The person she… the person who died _deserved_ it.

"You're awful quiet today," her mother said. "Bad day at school?"

"The usual," Charlotte said. This meat chunk was slightly bigger. It wasn't brains.

"That's a lot of information," her mother said. "You wanna hold some of it back?"

Charlotte snickered. "Nothing much happened. Mr. Pellman's lesson was boring. Jane and I played cards in the break. She won. I have a math assignment due in a week. I'll start it tomorrow."

"Was that so hard?"

"Herculean, mom."

"God save me from teenagers. Do you have plans for this afternoon?"

"I was thinking I'd go on a walk," Charlotte said. She could never think of good excuses.

"Not sure I like the sound of that." Her mother frowned. "Can I buy you a pepper spray? For my own emotional health?"

"Sure," Charlotte said. She didn't need it now that she could kill – no, that was a mistake, it wouldn't happen again.

"You wanna go soon?" Her mother asked.

"Let me finish eating, first." The spaghetti looked fine. It was fine.

She took a bite. Her favorite.

* * *

The mall was jam packed with people. They had walked into the mall, in spite of the signs stating "MEET THE HEROES!", and now they were stuck in the crowd. The heroes had put up their stand near the mall's Dick's.

"Come on, Char, didn't you have a crush on Assault?" her mom asked.

"No, mom, it was Velocity and I was _ten_." Charlotte said, exasperated, even more annoyed at the annoyance in her voice than she was at her mother.

"Still, I seem to remember a certain Bat Mitzvah girl writing an invitation to a hero, and crying when he didn't show up."

"Mom!" she said, her cheeks hot. _Can't she just… stop?_

She had a flash of disgust when that thought continued. She didn't… That was _mom_ , she didn't mean it, she didn't mean… _a red stain on the lip of a garbage can's lid._ She bent over, bile rising in her throat.

"Are you okay?" her mother asked, concern spread on her face, her mouth in a slightly slackjawed frown. People gave them some space, probably not wanting to be covered in sick.

"I'm… fine," Charlotte said. She swallowed it down, and rose to her feet. "After we buy the pepper spray, let's go meet the heroes. Maybe I can get an autograph or two."

"If you say so..." her mother said.

* * *

"Did you have to get black?" her mother asked.

"Literally every other color was pink."

"What about that green one?"

"It was for _bears,_ mom. I don't think anyone in Brockton Bay has seen a bear in years."

"Is this part of a new goth phase?"

"Yes, I'm going to go sack Carthage now. Me and my hordes."

"Where did you pick that up?"

"What, sack?"

"No, Carthage. Have you been listening to Cato the Elder? Because Carthage isn't a bad place! Destroying it is definitely a bad idea. Armsmaster transferred in from there. Did you know that?"

"Mom, Armsmaster is from Baltimore, and I wasn't talking about _that_ Jasper."

"Well I didn't expect you to actually know that, nerd."

It was a pattern with her mother. If she was worried, she'd get chatty, and now, standing in line to see Assault and Gallant, she was nervous. She was ostensibly looking at the front of the line now, but she kept glancing towards Charlotte when she thought Charlotte wasn't looking.

"Mom, do _you_ have a crush on Assault? Should dad be worried?"

"Well, you know what they say about younger men."

"Mom!"

"You started it!"

The line moved at a snail's pace, but it was orderly. Charlotte guessed the shovers had already gotten past, leaving those with time to waste to wait patiently. The conversation between Charlotte and her mother died, leaving them to wait, listening to the comfortable hubbub of the mall – children talking, oblivious to who can overhear them, a mother scolding her son, a man hawking watches, and tinny music echoing from speakers in the ceiling.

"You should have gotten a pink one," her mother said.

"Mom!"

"Think about it, some guy gets in your business, you mace him, which one is a better story? Let's face it, pink mace is funnier."

"I'm sorry my protective gear didn't match your sense of humor."

"You should be," her mother said.

 _I should be_ , Charlotte thought. _A man lying face down in the street. And I'm going to get a picture with superheroes._

It was their turn. The PRT agent standing, looking almost bored, ushered them to the desk where Gallant and Assault sat.

The two contrasts. Gallant, the knight in shining armor. He saved kittens from trees, walked old ladies across the street, and even sang in a choir. He played up his chivalrous aspect at all times, pretending to be the great hero everyone loved. A True Son Of Brockton Bay, as some newspapers called him, as if that were a compliment.

Next to him sat Assault, with his red skintight bodysuit and visor, the bad boy of Brockton Bay. Charlotte's mom had not been wrong about her idolizing him when she was twelve – every girl did. He had the smirk and the swagger, and the mysterious will-they-are-they relationship with Battery to fuel every rumor mill in the city. He shamelessly flirted with talk show hosts, both male and female, and would play sports on a near regular basis with various teams for charity events, at ease with people from all walks of life. The perfect PR-managed Bad Boy. He'd probably never done anything worse than park in the wrong spot, but the marketing on him was amazing.

Though… a red bodysuit made sense, for a hero. You couldn't see the bloodstains. If you hurt someone, _killed_ someone, it would be… easier.

Unlike her.

"Hey there, lovely ladies," Assault said. Her mother giggled. Charlotte didn't find it funny, but her thoughts were in an alley, where a man twitched as he died. "What do they call you?"

"Oh, I'm Marsha. Marsha Morgenstern," her mother said.

"And you?" Assault asked Charlotte. She couldn't answer him. The words wouldn't come.

"Are you okay?" Gallant asked her. Assault turned his head momentarily towards Gallant, but turned back and focused on her. She thought she could see his eyes through the red visor. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

It was _their fault_ , she realized. Two heroes, sitting in the mall, signing autographs, taking pictures, while she was attacked? When…

"Where were you when the Shomrei Zion Synagogue was attacked?" she asked, her voice steady. She didn't shake. This was the truth she had been avoiding.

"What?" Assault asked.

"Let's go, honey," her mother said.

"No," Charlotte said. She wouldn't be pushed away from this. "Hookwolf attacked a synagogue. The last active synagogue in this city. The people who stopped the attack were _villains_ , Gregor the Snail and Labyrinth. Where were the heroes? Were you doing another one of these… events?"

Gallant had no response, his entire body language frozen.

"Ma'am, your time is up," the PRT man told her.

"I'll deal with it, Jim. Let's take a few minutes break, and we'll be back," Assault told the man.

"Sir-"

"I'll deal with it," Assault said. He looked at Charlotte. "It's crowded here, mind coming to the roof?"

Charlotte nodded, her words escaping her. Assault had stolen her initiative, taken advantage of the brief lull. She followed him, and her mother after them, up a stairwell to the mall's roof. At the top of the stairs was a yellow door with "DO NOT OPEN" written in big red letters, which he pushed open.

"It's much quieter here," he said, his voice soft. He was right. On the roof of the mall, above the rest of the city, they were… alone. It reminded her of flying. It felt very distant.

"Umm… Assault?" her mother said, breaking her out of her reverie.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I like this place," he said. "Not the mall, but this spot above it. It's ugly, but there's something nice about it."

He was right. The roof of the mall was grey. Cigarette butts filled the corners of it, different metallic boxes almost strewn haphazardly across it, but still. It was a nice place. Quiet. A clear contrast to the bustle of the mall.

"I'm sorry. It's never easy to lose someone. It's never easy to be attacked," he said. "I don't know if it's any consolation, but Hookwolf has been sentenced to the Birdcage. He will be transported soon, though I can't say exactly when. After that, the media will be allowed to publish it. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but fuck it. I'm also not supposed to curse."

"Where were you?" she asked.

"Charlotte..." her mother said.

"No. Where were you, Assault?" she asked. "Where were the heroes?"

"During the attack? I was on patrol with Triumph. Gallant was at home, as were most of the Wards. Armsmaster was patrolling with Aegis. Battery, Miss Miltia, Velocity and Dauntless were at the Rig. They answered the call, but arrived too late," Assault said.

"Why do you do… _this_? Why go to a mall? Why not save more people, do _more_?"

"Do you know how many thefts will happen at this mall today? Or tomorrow? Or the next week? Much less than before," Assault said. "A lot of our work is prevention, or making sure people know we are there. Also, me and Gallant, we can get reports for crimes from people who would be afraid of approaching normal police."

"But it keeps fucking happening! Do the heroes know what it's like, to walk around Brockton Bay being Jewish? Or black? Or Asian? Why the fuck do Empire Eighty Eight _keep doing it_? How do they get away with this?" She was crying, she realized. She probably looked like shit.

Her mother handed her a tissue. She wiped at her face before blowing her nose with a loud _honk_ that reminded her of the two weeks she played French horn. She giggled a little at the stray thought, stopping at the twin looks of concern from Assault and her mother.

"I'm sorry," Assault said. He ran his hand through his auburn hair, took a step back, and sat down, his head bowed. "Have you heard of the term 'monopoly on violence?'"

"No..." she said.

"It's the biggest lie we've got. It's an unspoken rule in society, that says 'violence is okay when the government does it.' It's how we keep peace, by being able to be more violent than the criminal side. A policeman having a gun is different than a criminal having a gun. Me punching someone is okay, Lung punching someone isn't. And up until recently, we got away with it by being the biggest kid in the playground." Assault looked almost embarrassed to talk about it. He stopped for a second, swallowing a lump in his throat, looking up at her. "But we aren't, really. The unspoken truth is that we're too _small_. And to stop there being more than one Empire Eighty Eight, we have to pretend we're big. We have to pretend we can afford to have people sitting in malls, signing autographs, because otherwise we lose even more people. We need people to _see_ that the Protectorate is out there, almost as much as we need to actually be _out there_. It's bullshit. It's _fucking_ bullshit. But it's all we have."

"I… I get that," Charlotte said. It made sense. The little questions she had, the niggling doubts. They made sense. The heroes cared, they just couldn't _act_. They needed a helping hand.

"Okay," Assault said, almost springing back to his feet. "Umm… would you still like to take a picture with me? Should we go take one with Gallant, too?"

"I'm a mess," she said, and laughed. "Thank you."

"I'll take one with you!" her mother said, almost shouting, pushing her phone into Charlotte's face. Charlotte and Assault both started laughing at the outburst. Charlotte took her mother's phone and turned on the camera.

She pointed it at her mother and the superhero, Assault's hand behind her mother's head in the shape of horns, and took the picture.

* * *

They drove in silence. They had been quiet, entering the car and driving off. The radio was blaring some song. By Rihanna or someone like that – She felt the first sign of aging, not recognizing whichever singer is popular.

"Is everything okay?" her mother asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Yeah, it is," Charlotte said. "It really… it's fine."

"It isn't, really..." her mother said. "That the heroes gave you _that_ answer? It's–"

"It's the truth."

Rihanna's voice cut out. "We interrupt this song to give you an important message. Bradley Meadows, the villain known as Hookwolf, has escaped his transport to the Baumann Containment center, to which he was sentenced a few days ago in a closed hearing. If you see him, please call the Brockton Bay Protectorate at–"

Her mother shut the radio. But it didn't matter. Charlotte had made up her mind. The heroes needed a helping hand, and she could be that.

* * *

"Where is Hookwolf?" the vigilante screamed at him. Jimmy backed away, panicked. It sounded like a teenage girl. In the darkness of the alley they had followed the beaner into, far away from prying eyes, it looked like a nightmare

A cape billowed behind her form. She was clad in full metal plating, looking like a medieval knight, somehow flying thirty feet up. Above her and around her was a cloud of debris, spinning in circles, pieces of construction materials and garbage in what almost looked like a _dance_. It was silent – not a single piece of the detritus that comprised the cloud touched another piece. No telltale clangs.

"Now, listen here, bitch," Frankie said, raising his hands. "I don't know shit about where Hookwolf is."

"Do you?" she asked. Two metal poles flew down from the cloud, impaling Frankie's hands and then _lifting_ him. He screamed, slowly being pulled to her height. Jimmy could barely make out her next words, said in a stage whisper, "Where is Hookwolf?"

"I don't fucking know!" he said, panic in his voice. "Please! I'm telling the truth!"

"Too bad," she said, and dropped him. He fell, landing with a horrific _crack_ , and screamed.

"Now you," she said, turning her head to Jimmy. He backed away, and tripped over something. His arms took the brunt of the landing, a flash of pain stabbing up his elbow to his shoulder.

A metal rod flew his way, and wrapped itself around his throat, and started tosqueeze.

"Where is Hookwolf?"


	3. Chapter 3

" _Some will criticize me no matter what I do."_

-Benjamin Netanyahu

* * *

Another nightmare of twisting blades and metallic laughs woke Charlotte up, into darkness.

 _There goes another night of sleep_ , she thought. She looked at her watch. 4:23. Could be worse. She'd gotten four hours. Worse than some nights, but not terrible. She could cope.

Her room was darker than usual. The small red light of her phone in its charger was off. She walked to it and pushed the power button. It was at 98%, but the charger wasn't working. She put her hand on the charger. It was warm. She opened the door to her room and smelled the smoke.

Turning on the flashlight on her phone, she saw it. The hallway was full of smoke. Something was on fire in the kitchen.

She ran to the door of her parents' room and pounded on it. "MOM! DAD! THERE'S A FIRE! GET UP!"

Her father's voice muttered a drowsy "What?"

"I'll deal with it, Scott," her mother's voice responded, and then the door opened. Her mother, standing bleary-eyed in a robe, stood for a second. Her eyes widened, sleep disappearing entirely. "Scott, wake up. There's a fire."

"Fuck," her father said, and jumped out of bed completely naked. Charlotte turned away. She walked towards the front door. She had to pass a bend in the hallway when she saw it.

The front door was on fire, as was the area around it, extending to the kitchen. Charlotte looked behind her. Her parents weren't in sight of the door. Good. She felt the hinges, the lock, the doorknob. They were useless in their current form. Softened by the heat. Unless…

She flattened them, forced them out of their place, and turned them into a sheet, covering the part of the door closest to her. She _pushed_ , the door flying out with molten brass covering its back.

She had a moment to remember what happened what happens to a fire when oxygen rushes back in before the flames grew with a _whoosh_. "Fuck!" she shouted, running back to her parents' room. They were outside, her father in a shirt and loose pajama pants and her mother still in a robe. "The entrance to the house is on fire. The window in your room is the biggest."

"It's got bars on it," her father said. Almost on instinct, Charlotte _pushed_ the bars off of the window. They took some concrete with them, but fell with a crash they could hear over the roar of the flames.

"No it doesn't," Charlotte said, and ran into the room. The screen was still on the window, but it came off with an easy push.

"You first," her father said. She sighed, and resigned herself to climb on his arms and through the window. She moved the bars away from where she landed on the damp grass. Her mother followed, and they pulled her father out of the window.

"Are you okay?" Her father asked both her and her mother.

"I'm fine. I'm calling the fire department," she said.

"I will," he said, and took her phone from her. She walked away.

Her house was relatively small – a one story affair. They had jumped into the backyard, which was going through one of her mother's inattentive phases, and was overgrown, the bushes untrimmed and weeds growing in patches. She could see the glow from the front door, where the flames were at their peak.

"What do you mean first available unit!? MY HOUSE IS ON FIRE RIGHT NOW!" Her father screamed into his phone.

Charlotte sat, trying to keep the supports up with her power.

When the sun started to rise, Charlotte and her family sat in the backyard of their now-destroyed home, holding each other. They heard the sound of sirens.

* * *

"We have people going over your home now, looking for what is salvageable as well as looking for what started the fire. Do you have somewhere to stay for some time?"

"We can stay with zeide…"

"I'm not doing that to Charlotte, Scott. Not for longer than a day. Maybe we should call the Fittses?"

"Can you do it? I think they hate me."

"Nonsense. I'll do it. We need to call insurance, can you get on top of that?"

"Our department will be more than happy to help with the records."

"But not happy enough to arrive, weren't you?"

"Marsha..."

"I'm sorry."

* * *

"And… ummm… this was Melanie's room. She said you should feel free to borrow any of her books. She also offered her clothes, since you two are around the same height. Can we get you anything?"

"Thank you very much, Mr Fitts. I think I should take a shower," Charlotte said. "I stink of smoke."

"Of course. Towels are in the cupboard in the hall. Call me Noah." Noah Fitts was a short bald man with a hook nose and thin lips, always walking with a fake smile, looking . He took his yarmulke off when he left the house, she knew. He kept the nose, though, and the nasally voice.

She mentally slapped herself for the uncharitable thought. The Fittses were being kind, hosting her like this. Her parents were going to her zeide's, and would probably be miserable throughout. When she was a child, one of her parents always made sure to be around when she was with him. It was only a year ago that they told her why. It wasn't that zeide was a bad person, he was just difficult. Difficult to be around, difficult to handle, difficult to stop when he flew off the handle.

At her lack of response, Noah walked to the kitchen. This house was very different. Open, where hers was closed. A two story house, compared to her one story. Bigger rooms. Bigger everything. Melanie's clothes were nicer than hers. She felt guilty for wearing them, as if soiling them with her presence.

Melanie, the perfect success story. She got a degree in Japanese History and managed to spin that into owning a successful nightclub, in the span of only a few years. She could have gotten out of Brockton Bay, but she came back, and became a success.

As the water from the shower flowed over her, she thought about it. She hadn't understood Melanie when she came back. But now she did.

When you were beaten down, and the world was crushing you, the response isn't to run. It's to look back at the world and scream "Fuck you!"

Melanie Fitts, a Jewish woman, had a successful nightclub in the middle of territory marked by a Nazi gang. That sent a message ten times stronger than opening that nightclub in New York. Than taking off your yarmulke when you left your home, or closing up the synagogue after a supervillain decided it would be fun to trash it.

A message she could send too. One Jews had sent over the ages, multiple times, in spite of one failure after another. Masada shall not fall again.

Drying herself off, she found herself smiling. Melanie had slacks and a t-shirt that fit her fairly well. The shirt had a bear on it with the caption "I'm sorry for what I said when I was hungry".

She walked back to Melanie's room, and inspected the bookshelves. The amount of manga she found there was almost alarming. Finally, she picked up one. _Now and Then, Here and There_. At least the title was in English.

She was around the mid-point of the book when her phone rang. An unidentified number. She picked it up. "Hello?"

"Hello, Charlotte," a deep male voice said. "I am called Coil."

"I know your name. You're a supervillain," she said. She wanted to hang up in his face, a petty act of spite that would make her feel slightly more powerful. She didn't.

"I would like to make you an offer. One you have personal stakes in. I know where Hookwolf is hiding."

"How do you-"

"I'll explain face to face. I will be in front of the Fitts family residence in five minutes. In the meantime, you have an internet connection, correct? Aryan vs Predator dot com. Vs spelled vee ess, Aryan like the losers of World War 2. Their latest update is relevant." He hung up on her.

 _God damn piece of shit asshole_ , she thought. _Fucking dickwad._

She typed in the address he gave her. . It was a blog of sorts. The newest post said "Congratulations to blastedBarbarossa for joining the empire and turning a Jew's home into their more natural environment, an oven". Attached was a video. Feeling her heart thumping, she pressed "Play".

It was a handheld camera, walking to the front of their house. The camera was then held at an angle, probably cradled between a head and a shoulder, while its owner picked the lock of their house. It then went back to a normal angle, and there was a bit of a grunt in the audio. It entered, and opened the electrical box to the right. The owner of the camera turned off all of the switches.

They took a few steps forward, and stopped to look at the sign her parents had hung at the entrance to the kitchen. A hand splayed in the Vulcan sign for "live long and prosper", with _Bless This Schmutz_ written on the palm.

"Looks like the Circle-Kays are Trekkies," a male voice said almost inaudibly, and laughed.

They walked into the kitchen. Her mother's knife rack, the sharpener next to it, the fridge with her drawings from when she was six that her parents _still_ refused to throw away, the stove with the burn stain on it that to this day she couldn't explain… They were in _her_ kitchen. And it was like the person in the tape knew it. The camera showed their other hand, holding a jerry-can. They started pouring it over everything, walking back through where they came from and emptying it on the doorframe, taking care to pour some on the mezuzah, and closed the door behind them.

They lit a match, and dropped it. The house lit up almost in a flash.

The rest of the footage allowed her to relive the burning of her house, up until the door flew open and the voice said "holy shit". The video ended there.

Her mind reeled. Thoughts following thoughts in a circle, leading nowhere. And a deep, bubbling anger, so thick she almost felt like she was drowning in it.

It was decided.

Mr. Fitts didn't even notice her walking out the front door, down the steps, to the street. She looked around, but nothing stuck out. No limousine, no tank, not even a black Skoda with a driver wearing sunglasses. Just a normal suburban neighborhood. The door of a blue Prius opened, and a very tall, nearly skeletal black man stepped out of a blue Prius. He smiled when he saw her, and spoke. "Charlotte Morgenstern? Hello. I spoke to you on the phone. My name is Thomas Calvert. Is there anywhere you would feel comfortable to sit?"

"I'm fine in the car," she said. Surrounded by metal, in case anything happened… Yes, the car would fit.

"Very well," he said, and sat back in the driver's seat. She briefly wondered how he fit – he must have been around seven foot seven.

She sat in the passenger's side seat. "How do you know who I am?"

"Ms Morgenstern… I am a resourceful man. I have spies in organizations. I know Hookwolf recently escaped his Birdcage transfer. I know, from sources inside the Empire, that someone is hunting for him. And I have someone working for me whose powers are to pull truths from minor details. The door to your home did not fly open because of pressure differentials, whatever the idiots in the Empire and the fire department believe." He spoke in measured, powerful tones. He was a gifted orator, she decided. Probably a politician of some sort.

"Why unmask to me?" she asked.

"Honestly? Because we share a problem. Empire Eighty Eight, for their twenty years in Brockton Bay, have been manageable. How many black heroes are in the local Protectorate? Director Piggot, is she by any chance Jewish? Mayor Christner? We don't even have someone like Legend, holding some form of gay flag high, even though any activism on his part is entirely coincidental. Nobody the Empire would prey upon is in a position of power, and they know it. It's why their crimes go under-reported. Why your house was allowed to burn down, rather than send a fire truck and policemen immediately to the site of a hate crime as it was being live streamed. I contacted you for the same reason I hope you will not go to the police, knowing the identity of the supervillain Coil. Because they are not on your side, and I am. I have spies in all of the criminal organizations and in the PRT. I have finances that can help you. And all I want in return is for you to do what you were doing. Make the city safe for people who aren't good white Christians."

"Your gang hurts people. They sell drugs, too," she said. It felt weak. This was a point of no return. A brink.

"When was the last time we destroyed a synagogue?" he asked, and she felt the last bit of resistance she had disappear.

"Will you help my family get on our feet? You say you have connections."

"Yes, I can do that. Will you help me eliminate Empire Eighty Eight? Remove the stain of their hatred from this city?"

"Yes," she said. Calvert extended a hand to her. It seemed disproportionately large, more like a large spider than a hand. She shook it.

"Hookwolf hosts dogfights. His next one is on Tuesday night, at the basement of a club called Schmidt's. I suggest you continue your hunt for him until then, as to not tip him off that you know about it."

"Okay," she said. "Smart. I'll do it."

* * *

"Where is Hookwolf?" she asked the cowering man in front of her. He whimpered, and crawled away. She snaked a steel rod under his throat, and curled it around him. She pulled him towards her. "Answer me!" she screamed. She kicked at him, and he whimpered more. "Shut the fuck up! You don't get to cry! You don't get to be pitiful. Answer me! Where the fuck is Hookwolf?"

He looked almost human, crying like this. Miserable. She tightened the bar around his throat. He started gurgling.

 _Should I be doing this?_ She wondered. She knew where Hookwolf would be. This was just torture it was just…

Making her feel better. Hurting these monsters, who hurt other people for no real reason. It felt _right_ , to do it. To do to them what they did to others.

It was only fair.

She walked out of the bar. It wasn't Schmidt's, but one Nazi bar was like all others, really. She tore the supports from the walls behind her, and flew to the Fitts's home as the bar toppled behind her. She wouldn't have to live there for long. Apparently, the insurance company was paying out in record time, even funding a rebuild of their home pro bono.

The world was finally turning in the right direction.


	4. Chapter 4

_"Don't be humble. You're not that great."_

-Golda Meir

* * *

"Breaking news in a story we've been following this week. Authorities have released information that Melody Jurist and Jared O'Doyle, murdered in their apartments this week, were in fact the Empire Eighty Eight capes known as Cricket and Stormtiger. This comes on the heels of Hookwolf's death last week at the hands of a mystery cape. Armsmaster of the Protectorate had this to say-" She shut the TV.

Jared and Melody. They weren't people Kayden especially liked, but they had been colleagues. Colleagues she hated, but colleagues. Max had always had to assure her there was a reason they were with them, a reason to tolerate them. And to please him, she had learned to.

She was surprised to feel a note of sadness at the news. Jared was a dick, and in her own way, Melody was worse. But they were still people she'd fought with, people she'd bled with. That had a bond of its own, she supposed.

She glanced at the phone. Max would call. If he were under attack, he would call. He would ask for her support, and she could throw it back in his face.

She looked over Aster, fast asleep in her crib. So innocent. So… amazing. Somehow getting the good parts of Kayden and Max, and none of the terrible qualities they had. Aster was worth all of the shit Kayden had done.

Theo had stayed home tonight. She still had the SMS from him. _Dad worried. Can't help babysit until killer found._

She knew Max. He wasn't worried about Theo – not truly. It was another manipulation. She looked at the phone again. He would call soon.

Kayden took out a pan and butter. She'd make herself busy. Maybe she wouldn't be able to answer the phone. Pancakes were nice. She hadn't had pancakes in a while.

Mix the milk in with flour, baking powder, salt, sugar, butter, add eggs, and for a truly amazing pancake… add chocolate chips. Her personal weakness. She even found herself humming as she melted butter in the pan and ladled the mix on.

The phone didn't ring.

By the time the batter was all cooked, she found herself with a huge stack of pancakes. She thought of Dorothy and Geoff. She wondered how they were doing.

It was okay if some were left over. Pancakes were reheatable. She sat at the table and took the top pancake from the stack. Poured maple syrup liberally – the real stuff, not the fake stuff that had never seen the inside of a tree.

She savored the first bite of pancake.

And the doorbell rang.

She ran to it before they could ring again, and opened it, saying, "Don't you know there's a sleeping baby here? What are-"

It was Max. He stood at the entrance to her apartment. Of his own initiative. He had come here. It was… He was _here_.

He was dressed impeccably as always, a pressed suit and tie that made him look… strong. She couldn't help but feel inadequate in her stained sweater and sweatpants.

"I'm sorry, Kayden. I was worried," he said.

 _Really?_ She wanted to say. What came out was, "Why? What's happening?"

"Brad was ripped to pieces. Melody's mask was crushed with her head inside. Jared was sliced into pieces by his costume. And James's wife just called, and he's dead. He was found crushed underneath a dumpster. Someone is coming after us, and I was worried about you and our daughter."

 _Aster. Of course he'd hold her over my head_. "I can protect myself and my daughter well enough, thank you."

"Kayden, you knew James. You know how powerful he was. You think he couldn't handle having a dumpster thrown at him? There's something more malicious at play, here. Someone is targeting _us_."

"I left you. I left your gang. There is no _us._ " She almost spat the words.

"Do you think they know it?" he asked. "Do you think they'll go 'oh, Purity, she's not Empire any more'? I don't. I want to protect my _daughter_."

"Is this person going after families?"

"I don't know, and I don't want to find out. But they have good enough information to set an ambush for Brad, Jared, and Melody, and kill James while he's out of costume. I'm not taking risks."

He strode towards Aster's room. _He's not taking my daughter_. Kayden allowed the thought to consume her, engulfing herself in the energy, as the room lit up, almost as if a miniature sun stood instead of her.

Max turned with a smile. "I missed you, Purity."

"Go away, Max. I won't let you take my daughter away."

His face darkened.

"She's my daughter too, and I won't let her die because you decided to go independent!" he snarled. "You needed your time to go and be by yourself, and I never begrudged you any of it. I left the door open for you to return, and never pressured you, even when you threatened to take my daughter from me. I even allowed my son, my _heir_ , to help you, knowing the value of family."

 _What? That isn't how it happened... Is it?_ The room grew dark as Kayden released her hold on her power.

"You and I both know what's happening. This is why my father started the Empire, and why I keep it. This is the same basic method the blacks and Jews use. The PRT aren't going to go after the killer, because white people don't deserve justice any more. America is becoming less white, and this is just the newest stage of it. This is just their new version of affirmative action," Max said. "Come back, Kayden. Just for this. Let's stop these murders, and then you can go your own way again."

He _knew_ it, damn the man. He knew she never had the head for the big stuff, the context. Purity was one of the strongest capes in America, but Kayden was just a normal person. It was part of why she followed him in the first place, how he _knew_ what to do, what to say.

"Do you have a plan?" she asked.

"Of course. I always do," he said. A smile spread across his face. The old Max smile, the one that said its owner held all of the cards and was willing to share some of them. "But let's have pancakes before we go. They smell delicious."

Max took a plate and silverware from the cabinet for himself, and put a pancake on it, sitting down at the table. Kayden continued eating hers. It tasted like ashes in her mouth.

* * *

"Do you see her?" Crusader's voice came through her earpiece. She'd flown to the top of Medhall and turned her power off while sitting on the roof. In spite of her white costume, she was nearly invisible in the darkness of night.

"I've got nothing," she responded. It was _good_ to work with Justin again. He'd stayed in the Empire when she'd left, but she'd always had a bit of a soft spot for him, and he was thrilled that she'd come back. Geoff and Dorothy had also agreed to come, but it would be a few days until they arrived. They had to ensure their territory would be fine while they were gone.

Kayden purposefully avoided thinking about what other reasons they would have for delaying, who they would report to, what they were doing in their territory…

Not her business. She'd do them the favor of ignoring their worst excesses. They _were_ friends, in a way.

"Do you have anything? Alabaster?" She said into the coms.

"Nothing yet. One of my guys is hurting a jungle rat in Sullivan alley, but nobody's coming to save him," Crusader said. He sounded bored.

"Ich auch," Alabaster said. She used to get frustrated at his tendency to sprinkle his speech with German, as if to remind others that he was purer than them. "Der _Polizistenschweine_ are nowhere near."

The plan was simple. Hookwolf had been torn apart by his blades and chains. Cricket's helmet, in the shape of a metallic cage, was crushed with her head inside. Stormtiger's chains, which were looped around his body, were constricted around him. Krieg had been crushed by a dumpster – one made of metal. It wasn't a quick leap for Kaiser to come to the conclusion they were facing a ferrokinetic. He'd moved everyone whose powers relied on metal into his apartment, and made sure everyone else had replaced the metals in their costumes with aluminum. The exception to this was Rune, who was instructed to pretend to be a normal teenager for a while, and Victor and Othala who were protecting the apartment. And while Purity waited as backup, Alabaster and Crusader had a section of town their goons walked through, committing as many minor crimes as they could, trying to draw the attention of enterprising vigilantes.

"One of my men has found a white woman with a chink going leaving Palanquin. He will teach the woman a lesson once they've got a little distance," Alabaster said.

"Got that, Alabaster. I-" The sound cut off from Crusader's com.

"You what?" Purity asked. There wasn't even a crackle. "Alabaster, do you hear him?"

"Nein. I think his radio is dead."

"Damn it. I'm going to check on him. Let me know if there's any trouble." She attached the communication device – essentially a military grade walkie talkie – onto her costume, and jumped.

 _Aster_ , she thought, as she lit up. Her daughter. Being taken care of by _Max_. The light filling her was accompanied by a feeling of concern. She swallowed, the thumping of her heart getting stronger by the second.

Crusader had been hiding out in a one bedroom apartment the Empire had as an emergency hideaway. It was close enough to all of his men that he could reach any of them within a minute in case the new vigilante would arrive, but otherwise completely innocuous. Purity flew in through an open window, to a mess.

Her first thought was _Max said aluminum couldn't be magnetized_ followed by _Oh no_.

Nothing had been touched, or disturbed. But Justin lay in an expanding pool of blood, his armor having turned into knives and collapsed into him. She looked away, and took out her com. The rest of the room was untouched, the bed perfectly made, a copy of The Turner Diaries on a nightstand.

"Alabaster?"

"Ja?"

"Justin is dead."

"Crusader."

"He's dead in the safehouse. This vigilante knows where we're hiding. Move."

"Ja."

She shot out of the same window she came in from. The vigilante was almost certainly on her way to Alabaster's hideout, an office belonging to Eastern Freight, in one of the Beddington towers.

The window was closed there. The office was empty of people, the door left open. "Alabaster, are you safe?"

"Ja."

"I'm going to go back to my first spot, see if I can see them flying anywhere." She flew up, back to her former perch. It was undisturbed, her box of cookies uneaten. She landed on the roof.

"How many people have been hurt by your actions tonight?" a female voice asked. A person floated up behind her, off the edge of the building. The new terror of Empire Eighty Eight. Only the voice suggested it was a woman – she was otherwise obscured by a massive suit of medieval-themed armor and a cape. She was surrounded by construction debris, spinning around her in multiple directions.

Purity raised her arm to fire at her, grabbing for the walkie talkie with the other. A piece of rebar flew from the debris and wrapped around her body, binding her wrists to her legs. The walkie talkie disintegrated.

"It's just a question," the girl said. "I thought I'd talk to you. You were trying to be a hero, weren't you? I mean, that's what you've been saying while beating up Asian people and black people for the last year. I'm sure it's very heroic to only go after bad people who come from different places."

"Fuck you, _murderer_. I don't need to explain myself to you," Kayden said. She directed her hands upwards, and sent out a blast, breaking her bonds. She raised her arms, but more metal covered them and forced them down.

"I'm just trying to talk. To understand you, I guess. How can someone like you consider themselves a hero? Hookwolf was a monster, just like Cricket, or Stormtiger. Talking to Krieg was illuminating. He truly deserved what happened to him."

"Please… I have a daughter," Kayden said, her voice cracking. She would be lost to Aster. Aster would grow up under _Max_ 's care.

"I have a family too. Notice I'm not killing black people," the woman said. She sounded so _cold_.

"I… what do you want me to say? I couldn't do this, not to people I worked with. Not to people I cared about. So I focused on the crime that _mattered_ , the crime that truly affected people. The ABB and their whores, and the Merchants and their dealers, and the thugs who make the lives of real people worse."

"Okay. Thank you." The woman continued to float, wordless, for a few more seconds. The debris in her halo switched directions, the different bits and pieces changing their orbits.

"Are you… Are you letting me go? I'll take my daughter and leave. Go somewhere else."

"Be someone else's problem?"

"Yes."

"But you'll still be a problem," the vigilante said, clucking her tongue. "Not going to feel good about myself if you're still hurting people. Defeats the whole point of what I'm doing."

Purity blasted through her restraints, and raised her arms yet again, flying backwards this time to avoid more metal. She felt a sharp pain in the back of her neck.


	5. Chapter 5

_"We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented."_

-Elie Wiesel

* * *

"Ten million dollars," Faultline said.

"That's ridiculous," Kaiser said. "Your regular prices are never that high."

"This isn't a regular situation," she said. "Gregor, what's the price for a funeral? A fancy one, like Kaiser is going to get?"

"Twenty thousand? Maybe more if they gouge him?"

"Well, that's your cheaper option, Kaiser. Unless you've served in the military? I think you can get free funeral arrangements then." He was good, she had to admit. She didn't see the unease he had to feel. "I didn't serve in the military, so I don't get veteran discounts. I need the money for my seven children."

"Are you this flippant with every client?" He asked, anger accentuating his words.

"No, only the special ones," she said.

"Ten million is ridiculous. I'll give you one."

"And let my grandchildren go hungry? I'm not _that_ heartless." Newter snickered. It was a mistake to bring him to the negotiation – he wasn't ready, yet, and she didn't like leaving Elle alone with the nurse. But Gregor had vouched for him this time. He'd made a good point. If they had to, she and Newter could take him down.

"Your jokes are tedious. If you continue, I will leave," Kaiser said.

"Gregor, do they give discounts for family funerals? If Kaiser's children die, will that be sixty grand?"

"I have never inquired about bulk rates. He could save on casket space by having his son and daughter in an adult-sized one."

Kaiser didn't respond, but she could almost hear the sound of his teeth grinding.

"I'm doing you a favor by not saying twelve million."

"This is outrageous," he said.

"No, this is what happens when you have nowhere to go, Kaiser. You're facing someone who has killed your heaviest hitters. Even Purity, who really should have known enough not to be killed by a ferrokinetic, was killed. And from what I can tell, this person _tried_ to kill Alabaster and then gave up and left him wrapped up for the authorities, who are still having difficulty removing him from the cage they got him in. I'm going to guess you've gone to Accord, who refused you on principle. The Dragonslayers are on a job right now. The Elite are leery of sending forces this far east. The Protectorate are a bureaucracy and you can't push them for protection for your civilian identity. You're coming to us because you have to. Let's face it, monstrous capes aren't exactly in line with your whole racial purity line. You're going to lose credibility by going to us. I've got a similar issue. Part of why I'm charging you so much is because I need to give my people extra to even consider helping you."

"You're worried they won't obey you?"

"No, I want them to want to. I'm sure you know the meaning of this, even if only because you read a book once." Newter laughed again. She'd talk to him later, and admonish Gregor for convincing her to go along with it. "I'll go for ten million, and that's only if we have the backing of your organization. If I remember correctly, Victor and Othala are alive. We will hunt down this vigilante with their help."

"Fine," he said. "I will wire the money to your account with the Number Man. Don't let me detain you."

 _Did he really make that reference? Now?_ Faultline allowed a slight smile to spread under her mask. She curtsied and left Somer's Rock, leaving the man alone behind her.

* * *

She toyed with her glass of bourbon. Her office continued to have no answers hidden in the framed paintings she'd gotten when her tastes were much more Japanese, the desk made out of some type of classy wood that she'd forgotten about and was too embarrassed to inquire again, or the wallpaper, which she was sure she'd thought was tasteful at a certain point but now looked drab. It was, frankly, grating. It wasn't hidden in the bourbon, though she resolved to check the issue as thoroughly as she could.

It also wasn't in the form of Gregor, whose massive frame sat hunched in a chair in front of her. His gaze was almost accusatory.

"Out with it," she snapped.

"I worry about you, Melanie," he said.

"It's Faultline."

"I do not worry about Faultline. I'm worry about Melanie." Gregor, in contrast to her, was still. Melanie couldn't sit still. She took another gulp of the bourbon.

"Don't worry about me."

"You accepted work for people who attacked your place of prayer. Who threatened your family."

"We're mercenaries. We take work. It's not on our souls."

"But it is on theirs?"

"Yes."

"That is nonsense, otherwise you would not have taunted him, or gouged him so much." She could _see_ his heartbeat rising through his skin while he spoke. "I was there, Melanie. I saw the fear on the faces of the family that hadn't escaped. Their daughter had passed out. The fact that Newter and I managed a miracle and managed to defeat Hookwolf does not change the fact that you could have lost your family, and you can't pretend to be fine with working for the man who held Hookwolf's leash."

"Fuck you," she said. It was weak, and she knew it. Gregor allowed the words to linger between them, a shot she knew she'd regret taking at him.

He took a deep breath before his next words. "Is there any way we can not take this job?"

"You know this just as well as I do, Gregor. It'll fuck our reputation, maybe even invite reprisals. Even what I already did is bad enough. No, we've got to take clients. Otherwise we might as well just be another gang." Faultline stood up. She kicked a wall. It failed to dent or blow away in a spectacular fashion. Her toes hurt. "Fuck."

"Indeed," Gregor said. "I assume you have a plan?"

"Of course I fucking do," Faultline said. "I always have a plan. That's why we're so successful, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. What is it?"

* * *

The Aryan clans were what Faultline liked to think of when she thought of white supremacists. As a friend had once described it, "Why are the champions of the white race people who only barely fit the definition of the human race?"

They lived in a neighborhood only slightly more affluent than a trailer park, but _tidy_. Tiny houses cared for meticulously. No lawns, but no broken glass either. No cigarette butts. It was almost unnatural in its cleanliness. It looked almost unlived in.

The leader of the Herren clan was a large fat man, his face splotchy and his breath heavy with the effort of walking at the pace Faultline was setting. She sped up, just a little bit.

"So, Kaiser said, you're here to guard, Victor and Othala?" he said, gasping every few words.

"No. I'm here to guard Sebastian and Kathy and possibly also Emily, though I understand she ran away again?"

"Yes," he said. Was the redness in his cheeks shame, alcohol, or exertion?

They reached the small house Victor and Othala lived in. It was almost embarrassingly small, considering how lavish she knew Kaiser's residence was. "Umm… Faultline?"

"Yes, Steven?" she asked.

"If you… if they… if there's an attack, and you save them? I know you're a mercenary, and you're doing this for money, but the clans, we will remember it." Looking into his eyes, Faultline saw what the clans might see in the man she'd just dismissed.

It was dangerous to discount this man.

"These neighboring houses, they have families in them, right?" she asked.

"Yes," he responded.

"Okay. Get them other housing for a while. Any family with children should not be here. Not pregnant women either."

"I take this to mean you have a plan?"

"Yes."

"Good."

She stepped into the home, followed by Steven. Newter, Gregor, and Labyrinth entered after them. The lighting was dim. It was a modest place by anyone's standards, a tiny kitchen with a microwave, oven, stove, and television and a few cupboards facing a closed bedroom door. Othala and Victor were in civilian clothes. They didn't fit, in more ways than one. Besides the air of power that most parahumans unknowingly carried around with them, this feeling that they were in some way superior to non-parahumans, they were a mismatch, looks-wise. Victor looked like he'd stepped out of a fashion magazine, all beautiful cheekbones and perfectly sculpted muscles and faux casual clothes. Othala, on the other hand, looked like a thug. The combination of close cropped hair, a crooked face, and an eyepatch made the floral pattern dress she was wearing look ridiculous.

Victor looked over the rag-tag crew that walked into his home, a slight smirk on his face, before turning back to the pan he was frying something in… bacon, judging by the smell. Othala ignored them, scrubbing furiously at a pot.

"You're Faultline?" he asked her. "You're not dressed like Faultline."

"Yes, because I'm not an idiot," she said. "My costume has metal. We're against a ferrokinetic. Right now, in this kitchen, there are fifteen things that could be used to kill you, not including silverware."

"Okay, what's your plan then?" Was it not enough being a Nazi? Did he have to have that _fucking_ smirk as well?

"You and Othala live here. It's known in Empire Eighty Eight circles, and whoever is attacking you has intel on where Empire Eighty Eight members live. I figure she'll attack you before Rune, seeing as they still appear to have some moral compunctions – she waited until Krieg left his home before killing him, rather than hit his wife and children. Labyrinth and I are here to make sure there is nothing she can use. Then I hope that you, Gregor, and Newter are enough to take her down."

"Hope?" he asked. "I really hope you're not using me as bait based on _hope_."

"Hope is the gift we give each other," she said.

"Elie Wiesel? Really?"

"I didn't think you'd get that."

"Hey, Night's a good read and it's short. Why not?"

"You're getting off track," Othala cut in. "Why do you think we can be risked based on hope?"

"I won't risk you, Othala. Don't worry. You will be there to make Victor invincible or give him flight or whatever it is you do. I've got a super soaker that Newter filled. It should make a good weapon against her. Victor is a crack shot, all he needs is a chance. I'll give it to him."

"So what now?" Victor asked.

"Add some more eggs to the pan. We're hungry too. We'll wait until she arrives. It shouldn't be long. Once the food is ready, you and Othala should make changes to your costumes."

* * *

All things considered, it was surprisingly easy.

Too easy, Melanie knew. The lump in her throat reinforced that, as they looked at the person who had fallen when Faultline shredded her armor and Victor hit her with the super soaker.

"What do you know, we _got_ her!" He said, and burst out laughing. "Jesus, I was fucking _terrified_. I mean, no offense Faultline, but she got Purityand Krieg. And your crew is good, I've heard your reputation, I just didn't imagine..."

 _Charlotte_. The name flew around her head, concepts and thoughts fitting into place, detaching themselves, and flying around, haphazardly hitting others. _Charlotte._

The little girl who followed her around, asking her questions, who would watch any stupid show Melanie recommended no matter how asinine, who practically worshipped her.

That girl was the one that had gotten Kaiser to hide?

"Okay, so I'm gonna call Kaiser now. You say Newter's stuff should keep her down for an hour? We can figure this out. What do you think, O, livestream the execution?"

"I think we should film it and send it later, maybe on a time delay? Let Kaiser come up with a statement. Thank you very much, Faultline. Your service will not be forgotten."

"Newter? The Fallen." She watched herself give the order, watched herself watching Newter spit in Victor's face, snatch the super soaker from his surprised hands and spray Othala with it, watched herself watching the looks of confusion on blissful smiles on the villains' faces.

"Why?" he asked.

"Look at her face, Newter," Gregor said. "She was at the synagogue."

"Which synagogue? Oh."

"Yes."

"Fuck."

"Will we give the Empire back their money?"

"Why? We did our job. At no point did I agree to a fifteen year old girl being tortured and killed. Labyrinth, can you give us a hiding place, far from here?"

The floors flipped over into a staircase, living wood covered in eyes staring at them. She walked down them, into the darkness, trusting Labyrinth to lead them.

* * *

The room was shaped as a half-sphere. The floor was covered in many-colored gravel, some in colors Melanie knew she couldn't see properly, only approximate. The light came from the walls, a flowing liquid dome around them and over their heads, glowing creatures illuminating the people inside. Melanie sat on the floor, while Elle sat behind her, on a beach chair made of the same wood the stairs had been made of. She absentmindedly tickled an eyeball on her armrest.

Charlotte lay on the floor. Gregor had dressed her in a robe after her armor and clothes had been shredded by Melanie's power. She groaned, and pushed herself up. Her eyes widened when she looked around.

"Ugh," she groaned again. Elle pulled a glass of water out of the wall, and handed it to Charlotte, who stared at it for a second before drinking it.

"Hi, Charlotte," Melanie said.

"What… what is this place?" Charlotte asked.

"Labyrinth can create places. We needed a room without metal, so we could talk, and this is what she came up with." Melanie gestured at Elle, who was playing with her lips.

"Melanie?"

"Faultline."

"You… were with them?" she asked. "With the Nazis?"

"Charlotte," Melanie said.

"No." Charlotte was standing up now. She swayed a little. She was still affected by Newter. "You were with them?"

"I'm a mercenary, Charlotte. I think you've heard of me."

"Yes, I know, Faultline is the leader of a mercenary crew in the Bay."

"Yes."

"So you worked for Nazis?" she asked.

"When you're a mercenary, there are few clients you have the luxury of turning down for moral reasons," Melanie said. Labyrinth started to moan.

"So you couldn't say no, was that the case?" Charlotte asked. She laughed. A broken noise, sounding almost like she was crying.

"Let's be serious, Charlotte. I'm a mercenary. If I worked only for people with scruples, I might as well be a whitehat," she said. Labyrinth's moans grew louder.

"Fuck you, Melanie. You're a traitor," Charlotte said. "You're helping the same people who attacked your fucking family. _Our_ community. Rabbi Greenberg was there at your Bat Mitzvah. He was killed by the same Nazis you're working for."

" _Our_ community, Charlotte? Don't you realize how brainwashed you sound? Are you going to go to fucking Israel, help them raise the third Temple now? I'm sure the ashes will thank you! Fuck that! I got _out_ , I got my own fucking business, I got it on my own fucking terms. My teammates are ones _I_ chose. My job is the one _I_ wanted. My parents are moving soon to New York, where the crime is financial rather than racial. I'm sure there my father will be targeted for being a banker instead of anything else. Why the fuck should I work for a community that's only sticking around because people are too fucking stupid to leave?"

"So what now?" Charlotte said.

"Now? Now you do the smart thing. Pack up and go. Stop fighting Empire 88. You've hurt them, but it's not going to last. You took on the biggest player in town, and you bled it hard. But don't think they won't beat you eventually," Melanie responded. In truth, had the Empire not contacted her, Charlotte might have been able to succeed.

She shuddered the thought away. Charlotte wasn't paying attention to her shudder. Labyrinth's moans had grown louder.

"I don't think I can do it," Charlotte said. A slight smile began to play about her features. _Something's wrong_.

"Charlotte, you don't understand. If you don't go, Empire Eighty Eight will kill you. You need to go _somewhere_. I can give you money, so you can hide." _What's going on?_

"No," she said. "I can't surrender. Not to _them_. I'm not giving up. And I'm not losing."

Realization hit Melanie a split second before Elle's braces did.


	6. Chapter 6

_"It is my conviction that killing under the cloak of war is nothing but an act of murder."_

 _\- Albert Einstein_

* * *

The cafe was pleasant, Coil supposed. Outdoor seating with small parasols serving as umbrellas in the winter weather. They already had their Christmas decorations up in late November. He sipped his drink, some vile concoction they had made especially for Christmas.

In his other reality, he was sitting in his base, ensconced in his safe room. In front of him, a computer ran all forms of trackers and programs, with screens giving him almost a direct link to the knowledge required about the city and a custom keyboard with buttons feeding into places only he knew. He also drank a cup of coffee, far better than the one in the cafe.

This room was his favorite place in the world, in many ways. It was the place in which felt most comfortable, most at ease. Back-up behind back-up behind back-up, the ultimate security, and ultimately... false. It was pure redundancy.

The girl was one of his best assets. An amount of force that dwarfed anything he'd seen, and required precautions bordering on the absurd to face. When rumors came in from his spies in Empire Eighty Eight, he almost salivated at the thought of the loyalty of such a person.

When he began his approaches, he was wary. He used every precaution possible. Never risk anything. Or at least, that was his original direction.

It had failed. Multiple times. Coming in as a masked Coil ended in his arrest. Coming in as a philanthropist businessman Thomas Calvert led to her clamming up – she needed leverage on someone to trust them after her trauma, was his best guess. Intermediaries got hurt – Tattletale was ill equipped to befriend the girl, as was Circus. He didn't even try utilizing Trainwreck or Chariot at that point. In the end, he ended up using his riskiest maneuver.

Gaining her trust with honesty. Or what passed for it, anyway.

His identity. His face. Thomas Calvert.

Meaning that Charlotte Morgenstern was the single most dangerous asset he possessed, because unlike his Tattletale, he could not stop her if she went rogue.

There was something almost irresistible about the opportunities she offered. Enough to make him take the chance. He still didn't believe his luck. A freshly triggered cape, with both the power and the mindset that would make her a perfect weapon against the Empire. It had meant keeping his Tattletale and his agents on a singular track, but it had paid off. The Empire was reduced to Kaiser, Alabaster, Victor, and Othala. On the other hand, Kaiser had managed to finagle the return of Night and Fog, but Coil preferred to look at matters in a positive light.

He was winning.

Which was why Thomas Calvert was sipping at a horrific attempt at Christmasifying a cappuccino, waiting for the girl to decide to come out of the public restroom she was hiding in and meet him at their prearranged location.

The Cardamom Cinnamon Chococcino was even worse cold. He wondered for a second if the film on top was the spit of a weary barrista before taking another sip. Still revolting.

He didn't wear an earpiece, and its absence felt like a hole in his ear. But Creep, four tables away, finally stopped fiddling with his menu and called a waitress over, which was the sign that Charlotte was on her way.

So he didn't move when she sat down in front of him, looked him in the face and asked, "Did you know?"

"Did I know what?" Coil asked.

"That there were reinforcements protecting Victor and Othala. That Faultline was Melanie Fitts. That I'm staying with the parents of a woman I killed yesterday." The last sentence was almost spat at him. She glared at him.

"Charlotte, my intelligence on the movements and reactions of the various gangs is second to none, as is my knowledge of what happens in the PRT. That said, I do not know _everything_. Kaiser deliberately let no one know he was hiring Faultline, other than Victor, Othala, and some of the Empire's leadership."

"Did you set me up?" she asked.

He resisted a brief flash of anger. "I did nothing of the sort, Charlotte. Is that why you asked me to meet in public? Because you were worried I would turn on you?"

"What are you-"

"No," he interrupted. "I have trusted you with my identity. I've given you intelligence, trusting you to act on it and not to turn around and betray me. I've ensured that your family will regain their home, and even better, I've done it all legally so that even if I were to turn on you, I couldn't cancel it. I do not deserve this mistrust."

"You're… you're right," she said. "I'm sorry, it's just… I woke up this morning, and I realized that the person who used to sleep in my bed is dead. I killed her. I killed a little girl. And I didn't even get Victor and Othala. I failed."

It was like a dam broke. She started to cry. Coil patted her on the shoulder.

"Just because someone stumbles, it doesn't mean they can't save themselves," Coil said. He'd heard that somewhere, and it seemed wise. He let her cry, and offered her the napkin that had come with the coffee. Her sneeze was loud and her sobs came out as ragged, small affairs, like the moans of a dying animal. He understood, he supposed. She had gone through a lot. People cried after events. He'd cried, alone, after the PRT had fired him.

It was, however, uncomfortable. It had drawn attention that their argument had not drawn. People tended to watch when an older black man was sitting alone with a teenage white girl, especially when she was crying. He wondered if he'd be stopped by police if he drove her home afterwards.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I… this is..."

"I understand," he said. He hoped his tone was the proper approximation of sympathy.

"We should continue, shouldn't we?" The note of hope in her voice was unmistakable.

"Yes. But this has been a bit public. Could we meet in a more private place later?"

"Oh. Right. Sure," she said. She looked around, giving a dirty look to an old woman who was eyeing them with distaste.

"I think we can get them all with one attack," he said. "I'll tell you my plan tonight, we'll do it tomorrow."

"Sure thing," she said. Her mouth started to curve into a slight smile.

He took another sip of his drink. It was still revolting.

* * *

"Coil? I fucked up."

"I've noticed," he said. Medhall had collapsed into itself, turning one of the tallest towers in the city into a pile of rubble. It was pure bizarre luck that had him standing there, supervising his workers as Thomas Calvert, owner of Yilankale Construction. They, in turn, were supervised by PRT agents. Battery helped the workers shift rubble while news cameras filmed her. Assault gave an interview to another outlet. "Don't worry, Charlotte. I've got a man coming to meet you. I'll text you his number and you can coordinate the pick-up. He'll bring you to a safehouse, and we'll figure things out there. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she said. "I got a little hurt."

"I'll make sure there's a doctor. Goodbye." He hung up and texted her Pitter's number. He thought for another second, and texted Pitter a warning. Better if he didn't make a mistake and think Coil had sent him a gift. He then texted Doctor Quinzell. The man was good for these situations.

"Hi," Assault said behind him. Coil almost jumped. He'd let his guard down while texting.

"Hello, Assault," he responded. "How can I help you?"

"I just wanted to say, in case the higher ups don't, that I appreciate your firm being ready to take this on an emergency basis. I know most of your work is in the field of Endbringer readiness, but-"

"No need, sir. It's an honor to step up for our city," Coil said. "It's not every day a tower collapses."

"No, it isn't..." Assault said.

"Thomas Calvert," he said, and extended a hand. Assault shook it.

"Assault. Normally I say Assault Assaultington, but… it doesn't quite fit, does it."

"No, not really..." Coil said. "Say, what happened here? I haven't really been able to hear news, I just heard the rumbling and got the phone call a few minutes later..."

"Cape fight," Assault said. "Kaiser was in the building, apparently. Cape flew outside, called him out, and ended up bringing the entire building down on him."

"Jesus Christ..." Coil said.

"Yeah. It's odd, you know? Usually we know when capes that strong appear, but this one just… appeared. We have some murders we believe can be tied to him, but no witnesses, no security footage, nothing. We're still collecting camera footage of this guy in armor flying up to the building and breaking it. I keep wondering if we're missing something."

"I'm sure you'll find it," Coil said. "It'll be fine. You're superheroes."

Assault looked at him, and burst out laughing. Coil allowed a smile to cross his face.

* * *

Dressed in full costume, seated in front of his computers, Coil said, "Let her in."

She walked into the lobby and entered the elevator, which at its lowest went two floors above where he sat. He watched her progress as she walked through the hallways, and took the first stairway down a floor. The soldiers then navigated the deliberately maze-like floor underneath, before getting to the next stairwell, which they walked down as well, all in silence. Then they passed the four different scanners, keyed only to Coil and very few of his men, before standing in front of him.

Charlotte had taken her helmet off. She was staring at it, almost in shock. Coil pulled out the miniature crossbow he had purchased from Accord weeks ago and shot her in the eye. He'd kept his training up over the years, and he'd spent the time with the crossbow getting used to the way the fiberglass and wood contraption handled. She didn't even register a look of confusion before collapsing.

"Clean it up," he told his men, before getting back to his computer.

It was always good to take care of things yourself, and know they were dealt with. Besides, extremists were dangerous. She could betray him at any moment if she decided his ideas didn't match her ideals. This was safer.

* * *

In his other reality he finished putting his costume on, exited his car, and walked into the safehouse where Charlotte awaited him.

She sat on a bed, in a small, undecorated room. Doctor Harold Quinzell, or Doctor Q as was his official name, was putting her arm in a sling. The top half of her armor was on the floor in pieces, but her helmet stayed on.

"It does not appear to be too terrible. I do recommend you wear more padding under your armor. As I recall, medieval knights had leather jackets. I'd recommend you invest in something similar," he said. He looked in the direction she stared and saw Coil. "Oh."

"Thank you very much, Doctor Q. I suppose Pitter has organized your salary?"

"Ahh… yes. There have been no problems in that regard," the doctor said. He took a step back. "I believe I am finished here. Unless you require more of me?"

"No, you have done an excellent job, as always. I appreciate you taking the time. Do you need Pitter to drive you home?"

"No, no, thank you, everything… Everything's fine! I'll just go." The doctor packed up his things, and walked out.

"Mister Pitter, would you be so kind as to leave us alone for a bit?" he asked.

Pitter nodded, and left the room.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I… I don't know," she said. "I thought I'd feel bad. A lot of people are dead, and not just Nazis. But… it's like… nothing. I don't feel anything."

"Did I ever tell you I was in the PRT?" he asked.

"No," she said.

He unzipped his mask, and pulled it off. It looked like the world's most bizarre hoodie. "Well, I was one of the first soldiers on the ground in Ellisburg. We were dropped down, with cape support. Investigating the situation, you know? A city goes dark, nobody knows anything… We go in. It's our job. I never complained about that and never will. But we look, and… our fucking flares don't light. We were supplied with flares that stopped working when it was wet and sent out in the rain, and so PRT soldiers went into a dark city at night with no proper illumination. We had a cape with us, Evenstar, who could have helped us light the way, but he ran off the moment the monsters arrived. We ended up barricading ourselves in a house, fighting off these monsters trying to eat us, for two hours. A friend of mine got hit, and we knew we needed to evacuate him. I spent an hour and a half begging for a helicopter or a flying cape to arrive, but… No one did. An hour and a half on the coms, and they told us. We didn't matter. We could die. Not in those words, but nobody came. All we needed was a first aid kit drop off… something. Anything. And as we were overwhelmed, me and my captain managed to get out and run. The monsters came in through the door so we jumped out of the window. They finally managed to get a helicopter nearby, and we had to book it – they wouldn't risk bringing it close to the city, so we had to run towards it, chased by monsters. He didn't make it. And I was given a 'thank you very much for your service' and the boot. Because I dared to be human. I got my powers shortly afterwards."

"Oh," she said.

"What I'm saying is, after the fear, the adrenaline, the begging for help, for a very long time… I felt numb. And I woke up, slowly, but there's a part of me in Ellisburg. It'll never leave. And you feeling nothing? I felt nothing. To an extent, I still do. I don't think you can ever grasp something that big." He laughed, a small bitter chuckle with no real humor to it. "Or maybe it's just me who's dead inside."

He allowed the silence to settle. Sometimes, words were strong enough that any addition would weaken them.

"What's going to happen now?" she asked.

"Well, I see two options. The first is that Mr Pitter will drive you home. I hope that you never decide to act on what you know. We say good bye. The other has me calling some other people who work for me. We work together to make this city a better place.

"Charlotte, you have a chance to become a part of something much bigger than yourself."

After her response, he collapsed a world.

* * *

It's summer again in Brockton Bay. It's been uncharacteristically quiet. The mayoral elections went by, replacing Roy Christner with Carlene Padillo. Crime levels have gone down.

A young woman walks by an alley on her way home from her new job. Her mother is proud of her. Not every teenager gets an internship at the PRT, working directly for the new Director, a promising up-and-comer. A man is painting over old graffiti. You can almost make out what looks like an 83 before it's covered by light tan paint. The young woman smiles. Life is good.

* * *

 _I, for my part, acknowledge another precept which says man must deal the final blow to those whose downfall is destined by God._


End file.
